Page 51 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf
"Please, Maeve. After hours, it's just Orlin," he says, stopping uncomfortably close. His bulk effectively blocks my path to my car door, and I find myself taking an instinctive step backward.
"Right," I say, clutching my keys tighter. "Was there something you needed? I was just heading out."
"No rush," he says, waving one massive hand dismissively. "I wanted to congratulate you on yesterday's tonic distribution. Very clever. The parents can't stop talking about it."
"Thank you. It was a team effort," I reply, trying to step around him to reach my car door. He shifts his weight, subtly but effectively blocking my path again. My heart rate ticks up a notch.
"Indeed," he says, his voice dropping lower. "You and Dr. Reizenhart make quite the team."
There's something in the way he says Lorian's name that makes my skin crawl. I force a polite smile.
"We work well together, yes," I say carefully. "The children's health is our priority. We’re professionals."
"Professionals," he repeats, his lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Is that what you call it?”
My cheeks heat at the barely veiled insinuation. I tighten my grip on my bag and keys, realizing just how alone we are in the deserted parking lot.
“I saw you yesterday, in the hallway withhim.” Braggstone takes a step toward me, his tone belligerent. “Quite cozy for a professional relationship.”
"This is none of your business," I say, my voice firmer now, despite the alarm bells ringing in my brain. "If there's nothing specific you needed, I’ll be going home now."
"But this is my business, Maeve." Braggstone takes another step closer. I back up until I feel the cool metal of my car against my legs. "You've been playing hard to get since I arrived in Saltford Bay. It's getting old."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Playing hard to get? Is that how he's interpreted our strictly professional interactions?
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the disgust and anger roiling in my stomach. "I've never—"
"The way you dress," he interrupts, as if I hadn't spoken, his eyes roving over my body in a way that makes me want to scrub my skin raw. "Those skirts, those sweaters. Pretending you’re all innocent. You know exactly what you're doing."
My breath catches in my throat, disbelief warring with growing fear. I glance around the parking lot, hoping to see another teacher or staff member, but we're alone in the fading light.
"Let me pass," I say firmly, trying once more to step around him.
His hand shoots out, grasping my upper arm with enough pressure to make me wince. His fingers dig into my flesh through my thin blouse.
"A girl like you needs a man who can keep her under control," he says, his voice dropping to a near-growl. "Not some fancy doctor."
He reaches his other hand toward my face, his thick fingers aiming for a strand of my hair. I jerk my head back to avoid the contact.
"Don't touch me," I snap, abandoning any pretense of politeness. "Let go of my arm, now."
His grip tightens instead. "Let me show you what a real man is, Maeve."
Panic flares hot and sharp in my chest. I twist against his grip, using my free hand to dig frantically in my purse for my phone or anything I might use to defend myself. My fingers close around my heavy metal water bottle, and I start to pull it out.
“I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man in town,” I shout at him, loud enough that anyone in the vicinity can hear. I’m done tiptoeing around him. He crossed a line, and he’s going to regret it.
"You think Lorian Reizenhart is going to satisfy you?" Braggstone scoffs, his face now inches from mine.
"Step away from her."
The voice cuts through the air like a blade of ice. Lorian's voice. My head snaps up to see his tall figure silhouetted against the sunset at the edge of the parking lot. Relief floods through me, so intense it makes my knees weak.
Braggstone's grip on my arm loosens slightly in surprise, but he doesn't release me. "This is a private conversation, Reizenhart," he calls out. "I suggest you keep walking."
Lorian doesn't respond. Instead, he strides toward us, his movements fluid and predatory. I've never seen him move like this, all controlled power and cold purpose. His usually composed face is transformed by fury, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes blazing.
He covers the distance between us at what seems like impossible speed. Before Braggstone can react, Lorian's hand shoots out, grabbing the troll by his shirt collar. With a strength I wouldn't have believed if I weren't seeing it, Lorian yanks Braggstone backward and slams him against the side of my car with enough force to make the entire vehicle rock.